


Down the Rabbit Hole

by erestor



Series: The Burning Woods [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Death, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Eveiya
> 
> This tale takes place in TA 3029, forty years after "(The Return of) A.C.O.T.E.R." and ten years after the end of the War of the Rings. For the story to work, I had to take some liberties with the canon timeline; Elrond and Bilbo will leave for the Undying Lands eight years later than in the books (3029 rather than 3021).
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

**Mirkwood, TA 3019**

"Come here, come here, now there is a good boy!"

Ethuil picked up the stick and threw it, and the dog sped off to fetch, returning it with great enthusiasm to his master. The young Elf and his dog repeated this game many times; they never seemed to tire of it. Amariel, sitting on a large stone, watched her son, as she had done countless times before. This small clearing had always been one of her favourite places in Mirkwood, for one could see the sky here, the sun or, at night, the light of the stars.

Now Amariel could have seen all of the sky had it not been for the thick, billowing smoke surrounding her, for the trees were gone and that was all there was now - smoke, ash and a suffocating, gruesome heat. The smoke rose high in the sky, reducing the light so much that earth and sky had become one, and she felt as if she was sitting on a stone in a stifling, grey infinity. It was soul-destroying, so she hoped they wouldn't have to wait too long and could leave soon.

"Look, there he is, nana!"

She narrowed her eyes, and indeed, her son was right. She could see the tall, dark Elf coming through the smoke towards her. Ethuil threw the stick again, and the Elf caught it deftly mid-air with long, thin fingers. The dog sat in front of him and wagged his tail expectantly.

"At last somebody who is glad to see me," he said. "It makes a nice change."

He threw the stick, and the dog sped off, with Ethuil running after him, laughing.

"My Lord Námo," Amariel said.

"Elflings and their dogs," he said, and sat down next to her on the boulder. "My sons had one too when they were young."

Amariel rubbed her eyes.

"This is all very strange. One moment I was sitting here, watching my child play, and the next - I was still sitting here, but everything was different."

"There was a fire, child."

"A fire, of course - but what about Legolas? What happened to him? Will my beloved also join us in the Halls of Waiting?"

Námo shook his head.

"I see. I guess I should be happy but I am not. This is not how I imagined my life to go, or that of my child, my Lord Námo. This is not fair."

Ethuil had returned with his dog and came to stand next to his mother, putting his arm around her neck.

"I hear this every day, my child, and I usually say: death is neither fair nor unfair, it just _is_. But for once, I agree. I will see what can be done about it."

Amariel turned to him in surprise, and for the first time, she dared to look him in the eyes. They were pools of dark liquid; eyes like the water of a pond in winter. Eyes, she suddenly realised, she had seen thousands of times before.

"The twins - _they_ are your sons! You sent your sons to Mirkwood? But why?"

Námo didn't reply; instead, he scratched the dog behind the ear.

"Can I take my dog with me?" Ethuil asked, looking a little worried. "I love him very much, you see."

Námo nodded.

"Of course, child. All good dogs go to the Halls of Waiting. Now come, we must leave."

He stood up and disappeared into the smoke, and after a moment of hesitation, mother, son and dog followed him.

*  *  *

**Ten years later: Imladris, TA 3029**

"Here it is; that should keep you warm, old friend."

Glorfindel put the woollen blanket over Bilbo, who rested in Elrond's most comfortable armchair in front of the great fireplace. He carefully tucked the Hobbit in; it was a cold autumn, and there was a storm coming up outside.

"Ah, thank you, Glorfindel," Bilbo said, smiling gratefully. "Old bones get cold very fast."

"It is very chilly. What beastly weather; I only hope Legolas will arrive before the storm reaches its full force," Erestor said, looking worriedly out of the windows of the balcony. There wasn't much to see, though; it was raining heavily, the sky was dark, and night was about to fall. This was not a good time for any traveller to be on the road, least of all Legolas.

At a table nearby, Estorel and Lórindol were playing "Grumbler", a Dwarfish board game Lórindol had brought back with him from one of his visits with Dûlla's folk. The two played it with great enthusiasm, and as Lórindol lost most of the time, he tried to cheat whenever he had the chance. Estorel knew his younger brother all too well, so there were loud arguments every few minutes coming from their direction.

"You have moved your red stone, I saw you." Estorel said. "Try that once again, and I will make you eat the dice!"

"I have not moved anything!" Lórindol protested. "You just cannot stand losing!"

"Cheat!"

"Pillock!"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"There they are, our sons: all grown up, responsible adults."

Erestor smiled. At first glance, they certainly were. Estorel, looking impressive in the uniform of Elrond's guards, had grown into a fine warrior who, just like Elladan and Elrohir in their youth, spent a lot of time in the company of the Rangers of the North. With a handful of other young guards he had acquired a reputation for seeking quarrels rather than avoiding them. Together with his various dalliances and the broken hearts he left behind, he still gave his parents plenty of reasons to worry about him, grown-up or not.

And then there was Lórindol - well. Erestor sighed. Upon reaching majority, he had joined his brother in the guards, but though he had proved to be a surprisingly skilled swordsman, the captain of the guards had soon taken Glorfindel aside and informed him that his youngest son was not suited for the service. Not only did Lórindol refuse to follow orders which made, at least in his opinion, no sense, he was also, so Glorfindel was told, "bad for the morale of the troops."

That had been quite a blow to Glorfindel's pride.

"I agree that my son needs some guidance and discipline," he said to the captain, a seasoned warrior who had fought at Glorfindel's side in many battles, "but pray tell, how can the son of a Balrog slayer possibly be bad for the morale of the troops?"

The captain had sighed.

"Glorfindel, if you should ever wish to send me a Balrog to serve with the guards, you are welcome. But as far as Lórindol is concerned, please let the matter rest."

When Haldir, Rabbit and their daughter Bramble left for Lothlórien, Lórindol moved into their abandoned home, which he jokingly referred to as the "Rabbit Hole". He obviously hadn't found his purpose yet; one day he read a book on the history of Dwarvish forging techniques, the next he was in the House of Healing, inquiring about the efficacy of this or that plant in the treatment of an illness. He spent a lot of time in the dwellings of Dwarves, had learned their language and studied their customs, and rather than wearing neat braids as would have been proper for a noble young Elf, he braided his hair like that of a Dwarf warrior.

And yet Lórindol had grown into one of the fairest Elves of Middle-earth. If Glorfindel had looked like him when he had been young, Erestor could understand why he had been so vain. Lórindol's beauty could have been his downfall, but his behaviour was so peculiar and his words so blunt that only the bravest dared approach him. And even they stood no chance, for Lórindol seemed simply not to be interested in love or romance. He enjoyed the attention very much, and put much care into his appearance, adorning himself with the gems and jewels he had been gifted with by Dûlla and his Dwarf friends. But in all the years, his parents had never observed any signs in Lórindol that he might be in love, and they hadn't decided yet whether this was a reason to be relieved or worried.

"Oh dear, this is really a nasty storm," Bilbo said, and slipped deeper under his blanket. "Poor Legolas, I hope he won't get lost. It's dark, who knows what evils will come out now!"

"Do you think I should send out the guards?" Glorfindel asked, looking at Erestor.

"If it was anybody but Legolas, I would say yes, but..." Erestor shrugged, thinking of the letter Nonfindel had written to them some weeks ago. "Legolas must not get the impression that we think he needs help."

"If you ask me, that is really stupid," Lórindol said, looking over his shoulder. "What does he want, to get eaten by Orcs?"

"Nobody is asking you, and I have won," Estorel said, taking the last of Lórindol's stones off the board. Outside, the storm was howling, the rain was lashing against the windows, and they all imagined what the plains outside of Imladris' borders must look like.

"I remember how we hid under the stones there, back in the day," Bilbo said. "What a relief when Lord Elrond and his guards came to save us, and we were many, and it was on a sunny day. I don't want to think what it's like out there now! Poor lad."

Lórindol stretched in his seat like a large cat.

"I have been sitting around here all day. I need some exercise. How about we go for a ride, brother? We could see how things are on the border. Or beyond."

Estorel arched an eyebrow, but didn't reply. Lórindol gently nudged his brother's leg with the toe of his boot.

"Come on, it will be fun. You might even get to kill something."

"And you will accidentally run into Legolas, I guess?"

Lórindol shrugged, batting his lashes innocently.

"Who knows? Anything is possible."

Glorfindel looked at Erestor.

"What do you think?"

Erestor considered the matter for a moment, then he went over to Lórindol and put his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Lórindol, my dearest child. As touching as it is that you are so considerate of the well-being of our guest, I cannot help but question your motivation."

"Sia!" Lórindol looked insulted. "I have no idea what you mean!"

Estorel swept the remaining stones and the dice from the board into a small bag and put it aside, then leaned back in his seat.

"Morbid curiosity, sia. He cannot wait to see what Legolas looks like now."

"That is not true," Lórindol protested. "Everybody knows he looks horrible." He looked up to Erestor. "They say his arm fell off and his face melted. Do you think that is true, sia?"

"I rest my case."

Erestor sighed.

"Puppy licence ensures that parents do not eat their young ones. You, however, are not a pup any more. Keep that in mind during every second of the next two weeks, Lórindol. And please, try not to be yourself."

Lórindol folded his arms defiantly over his chest and glared at Estorel.

"As if you are not curious what your old flame looks like. No pun intended."

Estorel stood up.

"Actually, I am not. But your idea is not bad. Let us go."

Lórindol was quickly on his feet and following his brother.

"Take Asfaloth," Glorfindel called after him. "I will feel better if at least somebody with common sense accompanies Estorel!"

Lórindol laughed and waved at his father, then the two brothers were gone.

"You know, Glorfindel, that's one mighty old horse, Asfaloth," Bilbo said. "Have you never wondered how come he's so long-lived?"

Glorfindel poured a glass of wine and handed it to Bilbo.

"Of course I have wondered, but I will never know. I am just content he is still here, as strong, healthy and wise as on the day he came to me."

Bilbo took the glass and leaned forward.

"Have you ever considered," he began, lowering his voice, "I mean, thought about, that he might have, you know, possess a ring of power?"

Glorfindel closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Bilbo, have you discussed Asfaloth with Lórindol recently?"

"Yes, I have! How did you know?"

Glorfindel emptied his glass in one go.

"Oh. I was only guessing."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

What had started out as a light autumnal shower had turned into torrential rain with gales, and Legolas was soaked to the skin. Darkness had fallen, and now his horse could only progress at a walk.

The weather suited his mood. Lord Elrond would soon sail west, and so he had visited his kin and friends all over Middle-earth one last time to bid his farewells. His journey had led him to Mirkwood to see his great-grandsons Elvoron and Ellón, and while there, he had invited Legolas to come and spend some time in Imladris. Not even Legolas had dared to turn down such a personal invitation, even if he suspected that his father and Nonfindel were behind it, and so here he was, in the middle of a storm, preparing for two or three weeks of pitiful glances and awkward conversations.

He was curious to see the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel again, though. During his last stay in Imladris with the Fellowship of the Ring, Lórindol had been away, visiting his friend Dûlla to help her explore a newly discovered vein of silver. His absence had been welcomed by Gimli, who was a distant cousin of Dûlla and had called Lórindol "quite fair if you like Elves, but mad as a Turtle-fish".

Estorel, serving in Elrond's guard, had been present, but had managed to evade Legolas during their stay. All Legolas had seen of him was a distant figure on horseback, riding between Elrohir and Elladan towards the border of Imladris. And yet, Legolas was convinced that Estorel had watched him.

Well, not much reason for him to do so this time, Legolas thought, as he wiped strands of wet hair from his face. At the end of the war, retreating bands of Orcs and Uruk-hai had set fire to the north of Mirkwood, and the blaze had destroyed swathes of the ancient forest. Amariel had never wanted to live in the Great Cave, she liked to be close to her beloved trees and the sky, and Legolas, who had never ignored any of his adored wife's wishes, had set up home with her and their young son in a Talan. Of course he had been worried about safety, but the spiders had never come too near, the guards were strong, and what could possibly happen to their happy little family so close to the Great Cave?

Yes, what could possibly happen. Legolas shook his head. After all, others lived in Telain as well, among them Tauriel, who spent many nights sitting outside, looking at the stars above, and Lionel, Thranduil's chief advisor, who claimed that the fresh air improved his thinking.

And then, without warning, the fire. The picture would be forever burnt, yes, burnt into his soul: the burning woods, the heat, the smoke, the charred leaves falling, and most of all the column of fire that used to be their tree and home. And the deafening roaring of the flames and the screaming of the ancient trees; at least he hoped it was the trees.

It had been completely hopeless, but still, Legolas had stormed into the fire, ignoring the flames consuming his hair and burning his skin and flesh, and it was only thanks to Elvoron that he had survived. How Elvoron had managed to carry him out of the fire without as much as a single singed hair was still a puzzle to him. But then Ellón, who had pulled Lionel from his burning Talan and carried him down a blazing tree had not been harmed in any way, either. So the twins were the luckiest Elves in Arda, or-

His thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse, drawn out howl, very close by.

"Wargs," he said to himself, and reached for his bow, only to realise that there was no bow, would never be a bow again, for his left arm had been so badly injured in the fire that it was useless. But centuries of habit were hard to break, and Legolas just couldn't get used to the fact that he was not the master archer of Mirkwood any more but just a moderate swordsman. This bothered him more than the disfigurement of his face. He cursed and drew his sword; he didn't mind dying, for there was no joy left in his life, but it didn't have to happen here, in the middle of a storm and on Lord Elrond's doorstep. He could hear the panting of several Wargs, and shouted commands in Orcish. Legolas tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, and when the first Warg attacked, he stabbed it through the throat. The beast roared, threw off its rider and fell to the ground.

* * *

"I love this weather!" Lórindol couldn't have been more cheerful if the sun had been shining and they'd been surrounded by butterflies and humming birds. "Nothing like a good rain shower to rouse your spirits, do you not agree?"

Estorel, trying to shelter from the torrential rain under the hood of his cloak, shook his head and grinned.

"Given the choice, I would rather a bottle of Miruvor or a pretty maid, but then that is just me, brother."

Lórindol chuckled, and the small bells in his braids chimed. They rode for a while in silence, then he suddenly slowed his horse to a trot, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Did you hear that?"

Estorel listened.

"No, what was it?"

"Wargs. And Orcs." Lórindol sniffed. "And quite a few of them. We should hurry. Come, Asfaloth, we have work to do!"

The horse neighed and immediately galloped off. Estorel looked at his own horse.

"Gallop," he ordered, but the steed just blinked at him.

"It was worth a try," he said to himself, then he shortened the reins, clicked his tongue and his horse followed Asfaloth and Lórindol towards the border of Imladris.

* * *

Legolas did his best to fight off Wargs and Orcs, but he felt like a rabbit caught by a pack of wolves. It looked like his stay in Imladris would end before it even started; just when he had slashed the arm off one Orc, another jumped on his back. Legolas tried to shake the foul beast off while stabbing at it with his sword, but the Orc didn't let go. He felt its claws digging into his flesh and smelled the foul stench of its breath, and from the corner of his eye, he saw another one approaching. Maybe he should roll sidewise off his horse? That would give him the advantage of surprise, but also rob him of any chance to flee. Maybe he should- suddenly a whirring, all too familiar sound distracted him, then he felt a sharp draught on the back of his head and the Orc let go of him, fell off and was trampled by Legolas' horse.

An arrow! So he was not alone any more! This gave Legolas new energy; he turned to face the Orc to his left, sword at the ready, but before he could strike, an arrow was shot straight through the eye of his attacker. The Orc shrieked and fell off his Warg as a second arrow hit the animal in the neck. There was an excellent archer at work, and Legolas couldn't help but feel a little jealous.

"Three! No, two, he still moves... _now_ it is three! And... four!" he could hear a cheerful voice calling from a distance, oddly accompanied by the chiming of bells.

"Will you stop this now, you moke!" a second voice commanded. So there were two then who had come to his assistance? Elrond's guards? They wouldn't talk like that, though.

"Sore loser!"

Legolas, all senses on high alert, waited for the next attack, but either all the Orcs were dead, or they had fled, for the rider on the dappled horse emerging from the dark was an Elf. He was tall, very fair, his long black hair was held in one single braid, and his dark eyes looked at Legolas with intense curiosity. He wore the uniform of Elrond's guard, but here in the storm, with the wind howling, Legolas thought he looked more like a warrior Elf of old, out of this time. It was like looking into the past, and Legolas shivered.

"Five! I won!"

A second rider appeared, and Legolas immediately recognised his horse. It was Asfaloth, and for a very brief moment, he thought the Elf riding him was Glorfindel. That error was soon rectified when they were abreast. It was Lórindol, had to be, but this was not the Elfling he remembered. What a fair being! Legolas, lost for words, couldn't help but stare.

"Legolas! Well met!" Lórindol said cheerfully. Then he narrowed his eyes. "You really do look terrible. Not as bad as I thought, though. I mean, the Orcs look worse. See, Estorel, his face is not melted, I told you the stories were exaggerated."

Estorel pinched the bridge of his nose.

"My apologies. Welcome to Imladris, Legolas. Just do as we all do and ignore my brother. Lórindol, will you drop that Orc now, please."

His brother looked at his sword, on which he still had the body of an Orc impaled.

"Oh. My apologies, I did not notice."

Lórindol shook his sword, and the dead Orc dropped to the ground.

Legolas finally managed to collect himself. For an instant, Lórindol's words had deeply shocked him, but then he found his honesty and bluntness far easier to take than the pity or awkwardness he was usually approached with. Maybe his stay wouldn't be as painful as he'd expected?

"You are the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel? How you have changed." Looking at Lórindol, he added: "Then again, you have not really changed that much. Did you count your kills?"

"Of course." Lórindol smiled. "It is a game. I like to win. And I won again."

"You are weird," Estorel hissed.

"Not really," Legolas said. "Gimli and I played this game as well."

Lórindol gave him a blinding smile.

"Dwarves know the best games, do they not?"

"Time to leave. I am certain this lot were not here on their own. We can return tomorrow and burn them. With this rain, we could not start a fire, anyway," Estorel said.

"Burn them? Whatever for?" Legolas said, rather puzzled.

"By order of Lord Elrond, as requested by Mistress Mauburz. She says that Orcs used to be Elves once, and therefore deserve a funeral pyre, no matter how evil they are."

"That is ridiculous."

Estorel shrugged.

"She is an Orc, she should know. Therefore we burn the Orcs we kill, such is the law in Imladris, and Elrohir will not change this once he becomes the Master of the Last Homely House."

Legolas shook his head.

"Funeral pyres for Orcs. Orcs being Elves. Unbelievable. How does Mauburz know? Was she there when they were first created? By the Forest Spirits, how old is she?"

Lórindol chuckled.

"I dare you to ask her, Legolas. So! Last back home has to groom Asfaloth," he said, and Asfaloth, as if he had understood his rider, sped off towards Imladris.

Legolas and Estorel looked after them.

"We cannot possibly let him win, can we?" Estorel asked, arching an eyebrow. Then he clicked his tongue, and gave chase after his brother. Legolas, dripping wet, looked at the pile of dead Orcs next to him. What had Gimli said? Mad as a Turtle-fish indeed! No way was he going to groom Asfaloth, and so he, too, joined in the race. And while catching up with the brothers, who were shouting insults at each other, he felt alive again for the first time in many years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya.
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

It was a land dispute between siblings, and both parties arrived with their respective families, legal representatives and heaps of documents. Maps were produced, witnesses named, and in Imladris, this would have meant days, if not weeks of proceedings.

However, this wasn't Imladris, but Mirkwood, and after twenty minutes of familial feuding and increasingly spiteful accusations Thranduil, shifting impatiently on his throne of carved roots and Lumir's shed antlers, was at the end of his tether.

"Enough!" he shouted, and banged his oaken staff of office on the ground. The echo of his voice and the noise of the staff in the Great Cave were enough to silence the arguing siblings immediately. Thranduil's short temper was well-known, but still, they'd expected at least an hour of proceedings; their king was obviously in a particularly foul mood today.

Thranduil snapped his fingers. "Lionel, the hourglass," he ordered, and his chief advisor, standing to his left, quickly produced two of the required objects.

"Five minutes or fifteen?"

"Five." Upon seeing Lionel's disapproving frown, he shrugged. "Oh well, fifteen then."

He took the glass and showed it to the Elf closest to him.

"You and your sister have fifteen minutes to sort this out. If you have not come to an agreement by then, I will keep the land for myself."

"But-" the Elf tried to protest, but Thranduil cut him off with an authoritative gesture and a glare.

"No more of it! Almost every day I have to waste my time with petty arguments of young Elves who argue over land, gold and, unbelievably, cows and donkeys. Your parents sailed west without making arrangements, in the erroneous belief that you would be mature enough to make your own. You have now fifteen minutes to prove their faith in you was not misplaced." He turned the hourglass, and the sand began to trickle. "Now, out!"

The two families hurried to get out of Thranduil's sight and the king put the hourglass carefully on the armrest of his throne.

"My king, you cannot claim their land," Lionel said disapprovingly. "It is against our laws."

"Of course not. They will come to an agreement. They always do, the fools." Thranduil sighed. "Lionel, if you really hate your relatives, leave for Valinor without making arrangements."

"Well, maybe their father just did not like _you_ very much, my king," Lionel replied smoothly. "And with your behaviour lately, I cannot say I blame him."

"You are impertinent," Thranduil snapped. "Watch your tongue, or I will have you thrown in the dungeon!"

Lionel rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, of course, along with Legolas and the twins and Tauriel and half of Mirkwood. With all due respect, if you hate our company so much, why do you not finally hand your throne over to your son and sail west with Lord Nonfindel?"

Thranduil pointed his staff at Lionel.

"You just cannot wait to see the back of me, can you? I do not see you getting a boat to Valinor, either!"

Lionel put his hand on Thranduil's shoulder.

"My king, I am your friend. I know that you long to leave; I only have your happiness in mind. As for myself, I feel my advice is still needed."

Thranduil didn't look at his advisor, but watched the hourglass instead. The sand trickled slowly but steadily from top to bottom.

"I cannot leave my throne to Legolas, Lionel. For one, he does not wish to be king, and for the other, he would start a campaign of vengeance against the remaining Orcs in the north the very second I handed him my crown. This would only bring more death and misery to my people, and by the Forest Spirits, we have had enough of that."

Lionel nodded.

"That is true. Let us hope that his stay in Imladris will heal some of his wounds; it is a haven of peace, I doubt he will find anybody there supporting his thirst for vengeance. He was deaf to your words; maybe he will listen to Lord Elrond."

The last grain of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass, and the arguing siblings returned in front of Thranduil's throne.

"Have you come to an agreement?" he asked.

Brother and sister looked at each other, then both nodded.

Thranduil gave Lionel a smug little smile. Old tricks were still the best.

* * *

Estorel, Lórindol and Legolas arrived in Imladris at about the same time, so it was decided to call the bet off and leave grooming Asfaloth and the other two horses to the stable-Elves on duty. The three warriors were wet and covered in grime and blood, but Lórindol looked very pleased with himself. Upon entering the Great Hall, they were welcomed by Elrond, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Erestor, the latter calling for towels, food and dressing material.

"Estorel and I went for a ride, and we just happened to find Legolas entertaining a pack of Wargs," Lórindol explained cheerfully. "Do not fuss, sia, we are not injured. Or are you, Legolas?"

"No, it is only a scratch," Legolas said. "So it was only a lucky coincidence that you came to my rescue? Do you often go for recreational rides in storms then?"

"We do," Estorel said, not even blinking. "It is very refreshing."

"Welcome to the Last Homely House, Legolas" Elrond said warmly, and opened his arms. "I am very happy that you will spend some time with us, though I would have wished your arrival had been a little less adventurous."

Legolas bowed his head in greeting.

"Well met, Lord Elrond, and thank you for your invitation. I must say, I do not mind a little adventure; my life has become rather dreary. But with your permission, I would like to clean up. Orc blood stinks."

"Of course. Erestor, will you show our guest to his chamber?"

Erestor nodded, and led the way. Legolas followed him up stairs and down corridors, and he began to relax. Imladris had always been a place of joy and happiness. Mirkwood, on the other hand, was now even more deserving of its name than ever, and if he was being honest, escaping the misery for a few weeks was not that bad an idea, after all.

"Here we are. It is the same chamber you had the last time you stayed here; you mentioned that you liked it very much," Erestor said, opening the door. It was a lovely room, spacious and with its own bathing chamber, and a balcony overlooking the training grounds of Elrond's guards.

"I had a feeling you might arrive tonight, and with this beastly weather, I thought a bath would certainly be welcome," Erestor explained, pointing at the large tub, filled with steaming hot water. "Not the famed hot springs of Mirkwood, but better than a basin and a jug."

"It seems Lord Elrond is not the only one to possess the gift of foresight here! It is perfect, Master Erestor," Legolas said gratefully.

"Join us for a meal whenever you feel like it. And if you would rather not spend further time in the company of my exhausting offspring, please say so, and I will arrange for your meal to be served here in your chamber. If anybody can understand the need for solitude, it is I."

Legolas had to chuckle, much to his own surprise.

"I must say, Master Erestor, your sons have changed a lot; they were still Elflings when I last saw them, and now - warriors! Estorel is a skilled archer, while Lórindol seems to prefer the sword. Has Glorfindel trained them?"

Erestor hesitated a moment.

"Yes," he finally said, "though Rabbit has contributed to their education as well. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to learn the ways of the Plains Elves when I was an Elfling, as I did not know of my heritage, but my sons learned all a young Plains Elf needs to know. As parents, we have a duty to give our children the opportunity to see the world not only through our eyes, do you not agree?"

Legolas was taken aback. Ever since the death of his family, everybody was painfully avoiding mentioning his son, so he sometimes almost felt as if he had never been a father at all.

"I - well, my son does not care much for archery. I mean, he did not care much. Nor for any other weaponry. He was more interested in the sciences. And he was a funny little Elf - he had a great sense of humour. Not really something the House of Thranduil is famous for. Odd, is it not?"

Erestor smiled.

"Oh, I always thought you had a great sense of humour, Legolas. The banter with your father kept us entertained through many a boring feast."

"We better not tell him that, Master Erestor. But tell me, are the ways of the Plains Elves very different from ours?"

"Yes - and no. It depends. But please, do not let me keep you from having your well-deserved bath and a rest," Erestor said smoothly, then bowed and left the room.

"What an elegant way of avoiding an answer," Legolas said to himself. He poured a glass of wine and sat down in one of the elegantly carved armchairs. He would take Erestor up on his offer and eat alone in his chamber; he was very tired after the long journey, and despite his protests otherwise, his wounds hurt. He emptied his glass, then began to undress on the way to the bathing chamber, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror next to its entrance.

He remembered how he had first met Estorel, then still a small Elfling, shyly hiding behind Master Erestor one Yule evening in Imladris. Legolas had just arrived from Mirkwood, covered in the dust and grime of a long journey. Estorel hadn't noticed, though; he had been fascinated by Legolas' golden hair, and picked up a scrap of green velvet that had been torn off Legolas' jerkin, touching it with great interest.

"Look, sia, the beautiful Elf is all soft!" he'd declared, causing Gimli to break out in roaring laughter.

"Times have changed," Legolas said to his mirror image, whose disfigured features still looked like a stranger's to him. Nowadays he certainly wasn't the object of Estorel's infatuation any more, but then he had not come to Imladris looking for romance. If anything, he hoped that he could find a few opportunities to get drunk on the excellent spirits of Imladris, and if the rumours were true, Estorel was the best Elf to tell him where to find them.

* * *

Elrond's guards were already awake and honing their fighting skills when Legolas woke up. He could hear the clashing of swords, the whirring of arrows, the commands and, inevitably, the ribbing and the banter that came with competition among warriors. It was the kind of noise he was familiar with; and while it was comforting, it was at the same time painful, for it reminded him why he did not compete with his fellow warriors any more. He either trained alone or with his father. In the first year after the fire, the mere sight of an archer had filled him with rage at his own incapacity, and later, it was his mediocre skills with the sword which kept him away. Legolas had never been vain; a blessing in hindsight, for it helped him to deal with his disfigurement. But his skills as an archer - that was something he had been immensely proud of, and the fact that he couldn't shoot an arrow was one of those wounds left by the fire which just didn't heal.

He stood up and went to the bathing chamber, washing his hands with cold water from a bowl and splashing some onto his face. There was shouting outside. Legolas recognised Estorel's voice immediately; probably a joke, followed by laughter. He knew that he should get dressed and meet Lord Elrond now, but his curiosity was piqued, so he quickly slipped into his breeches, and stepped out on the balcony. The storm had left the air cold and crisp; the sky was without a cloud and promised a beautiful autumn day. Legolas leaned on the intricately forged balustrade and watched the Elves on the training ground. There were Estorel and six or seven other Elves, one of whom, to his great surprise, was Elrohir. So the future Lord of Imladris had no intention of retiring to books and scrolls then; come to think about it, that wouldn't have suited him at all. Elrohir and Elladan were warriors, and Legolas still had to get used to the idea of Elrohir in robes, ruling Imladris.

Then again, that was easier to accept than the idea of himself in robes, ruling Mirkwood. Legolas shuddered; the mere notion of himself as future king was a nightmare, only made bearable by the thought that he could then finally hunt down the bands of Orcs who were responsible for the Mirkwood fire. Thranduil refused to go to war, Legolas yearned to. It was the only thought which kept him going, but so far, his father showed no signs of sailing west.

Estorel had noticed that Legolas was watching them.

"Good morning! What are you waiting for? You are late for training!"

Legolas frowned. "No," he said sharply, and took a step back.

"What, no!" Estorel laughed. "Without practice, you will return to Mirkwood as miserable a swordfighter as my brother!"

The lack of any response to this, either in words or in flying missiles, indicated that Lórindol was not part of the daily training schedule. Well, Legolas wouldn't be, either. He shook his head once again, then quickly retreated to his chamber.

* * *

Breakfast was a pleasant affair. Legolas was kept company by the early birds of Imladris; Mauburz, Elrohir, Lórindol and Bilbo, while Lindir the bard played his latest compositions. Legolas preferred the many-talented Lionel's songs, which were more on the bawdy side, but Bilbo seemed to enjoy the gentle tunes, and it was nice to see the old Hobbit so happy. Lórindol was immersed in a book titled "Gondorian Weaver Ants: Civilisation by Instinct" and managed to eat without taking his eyes off the leaves.

"I am so glad to see you one last time, Legolas my boy," Bilbo said. "Not many of my old friends are still around, so I'm very happy that you are here now. Lord Elrond will have a farewell party, just for me, did you know?"

Legolas wanted to reply, but he was interrupted by a gut-wrenching sob. Mauburz pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

"Is anything amiss?" Legolas asked.

"Valinor," Mauburz sobbed, "stupid Valinor! Stupid Valar!" Another sob, then Mauburz jumped up and fled the place, crying and swearing.

Legolas was confused.

"Elrond leaving," Lórindol explained, without looking up from his book. "Apocalypse."

"Ah."

"Poor Mistress Mauburz," Bilbo said. "It must be terrible for her to part with her old friend."

"It certainly is," Lindir said, putting his lute aside. "Ever since Lord Elrond announced that he will sail west, she is inconsolable. She has this irrational fear that the day will come when we have all left for Valinor and she will be all alone in Imladris."

Legolas looked from Lindir to Bilbo.

"But - that is not really irrational, is it? You all _will_ go to Valinor, eventually, and she is an Orc. So she will be left behind. That is the way things are. The sooner she resigns herself to her fate the better."

Lindir stood up and straightened his robes.

"I think I better go and look after her," he said, giving Legolas an icy glare as he went.

"The last one to leave will take Mauburz with him," Elrohir explained, pouring another cup of tea. "She just does not believe that she will be allowed to live in Valinor."

Legolas was now really confused.

"She is an Orc. Of course she will not be allowed to live in Valinor! Whatever makes you think she will?"

Elrohir put the teapot back on the table. On the sofa behind Legolas, he could see Námo, stretched out and eating an apple.

"I have it on good authority," Elrohir said carefully.

"Orcs are Elves," Lórindol said, again without looking up. "Elves go to Valinor."

Legolas shook his head, but decided not to discuss the matter further. They continued breakfast in silence; from time to time, the clanging of swords and laughter from the training grounds could be heard.

"Is Estorel still on the training grounds?" Bilbo asked after a while.

"Indeed he is," Elrohir said. "He is more persevering than I."

Now Lórindol looked up and put his book aside.

"Ada showed him the Ecthelion manoeuvre, Uncle Bilbo, and now he teaches it to the other guards."

Bilbo's face lit up.

"Oh, I'd love to see that! Will you take me there, dear boy?"

"But of course," Lórindol said warmly. "Let me just get a warm blanket for you."

Legolas watched with great surprise how Lórindol wrapped the old Hobbit in a blanket and carried him outside, as one would do with a child. He'd never expected him to be so caring; the little weasel was full of surprises.

"It is sad to see him so frail," Legolas said. "In my memory, Bilbo is still a young, strong Hobbit, fighting by my side. It is comforting to know that he has been granted a passage to Valinor."

"Indeed, it is. Many are leaving for Valinor these days. Have you seen our guards? You will hardly find an Elf older than Estorel."

Legolas nodded.

"It is the same in Mirkwood. Not a week goes by without a family leaving."

"Has your father already made arrangements?"

"My father?" Legolas shook his head. "My father will not leave. He _will_ not, and I _cannot_."

"Of course, my apologies." Elrohir nodded. "Your wife. She has not returned yet."

Legolas stared at Elrohir as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Returned? What are you talking about?"

Elrohir turned brick red, feeling that he had said something very stupid, yet he didn't really know what it was.

"My apologies, Legolas. I did not want to say anything hurtful. It was just that my father mentioned that the ten years after which the soul of your wife will be reborn will be soon over, so I assumed that was what your father was waiting for."

Legolas leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Good grief. How can a wise Elf like your father be so superstitious?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Elrohir! This is all nonsense! Nobody is reborn! When they die, we lose them forever, can you not see this? My wife is dead! My son is dead! And I will never see them again!"

Elrohir was shocked, both by Legolas' words and the outraged expression on Námo's face.

"But do you not trust that she will reborn?"

"Reborn?" Legolas laughed without mirth. "All those battles fought, all those warriors slain - and yet, do you know of even one case where it has happened, Elrohir? Think about it. Name one. Just one."

Elrohir looked over Legolas' shoulder, where Námo made an encouraging gesture.

"Well, there is Glorfindel, of course. And your uncle, Amaris. Gil-galad comes to my mind, and-"

"They were not reborn," Legolas cut him off, "but returned from the Halls of Waiting. Returned the same as they were before their death. But I have yet to hear of an Elf reborn, Elrohir, and you know why that is? Because there are none. The Valar told us we would recognise them immediately, that we would see it in their eyes. I certainly would, Elrohir; my wife had golden speckles in her eyes, just like my uncle, that is why her mother named her Amariel, in honour of his memory. Yes, I would recognise her. But she will not return."

Námo now looked decidedly annoyed, and Elrohir began to fear for Legolas' well-being.

"You should not speak in such a way about the Valar," he said, putting his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "You are grieving, and this has robbed you of all faith and hope."

Legolas shook Elrohir's hand off.

"Hope? Do not speak to me of faith and hope! My father had faith, and he hoped that my mother would be reborn. He hoped for thousands of years, but in vain. Look what his faith did to him; he became bitter and lonely. No, I will not waste my time with hope, and certainly not with faith in the Valar!"

He stood up, bowed his head and left.

"I feel unappreciated," Námo said. "Why is he blaming me for his mother's decision not to be reborn? And how is it my fault Elves have lost the ability to see what is in front of their noses?"

Elrohir sighed.

"You must forgive him, he is blinded by his grief. However... I have indeed never met an Elf who has been reborn."

"Beloved, do not tell me that you have lost your faith in me as well!"

"This is not a matter of faith," Elrohir said firmly, "it is a matter of facts."

Námo stood up and kissed Elrohir on the cheek.

"As I said, you Elves have lost the ability to see. Take Glorfindel, for example. For centuries he mourned his firstborn son who died during the fall of Gondolin. His son's soul was reborn in Estorel, but do you think he has ever realised? No. He spent hours arguing with Erestor over whether the child had his ears or Erestor's, but the most obvious thing he did not see."

Elrohir sat down on the closest chair.

"Estorel? I had no idea!"

"Of course not, you were not even born back when he first lived."

"So will Amariel and her son return then?"

Námo folded his hands behind his back and gave Elrohir a stern look.

"Beloved, I have told you before that I cannot discuss such matters with you. I have told you far too much already. But let me say that Legolas is walking a dangerous path, and if he does not come to his senses soon, he will drag others into misery and possible doom."

Elrohir sighed.

"Loving you is not an easy task, Námo. You cannot live with me, half of the things that matter you may not discuss, and when you speak, it is in riddles. Soon I will become the Lord of Imladris, and with our sons away in Mirkwood, I would give anything for somebody by my side for guidance and support. Yet I fear that I will have to be contented with your infrequent visits, cryptic forebodings and occasional surprise visits to my bedchamber. How long do you intend to continue this? Decades? Centuries? Ages?"

Námo put his arm around Elrohir's waist and rested his head on his shoulder.

"You must think me very selfish, and you are right. But may I ask you to be patient for just a little while longer while I disentangle this web, beloved?"

"As if I had any choice. And I suppose I must not say a word about Estorel to his parents?"

"Absolutely not," Námo insisted. "And as for Asfaloth-"

"Asfaloth? Why, what about him?"

Elrohir turned around, but Námo had already disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you really hate your relatives, die without making arrangements."
> 
> One of my father's favourite sayings. He's not King of the Woodland Realm, though, but a retired funeral director.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya.
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

The Last Homely House was buzzing with the preparations for "Bilbo's Farewell Party", and Glorfindel had even stuck a note to the door of Erestor's study announcing that there was "no admittance except on party business", which Bilbo found hilarious. The big event would take place this night; halls and corridors were filled with chatter, laughter and the delicious scent of food. Everybody seemed to have a purpose and task; Legolas felt that he was in the way and decided to go for a walk in one of Elrond's lovely gardens.

Strictly speaking it was Celebrían's garden he was heading for; the only one which had been created without a plan or theme. Aside from watering her flowers, giving them encouraging words and swearing occasionally when confronted with wilting leaves or greenflies, she had left her creation to itself, so it now resembled a colourful jungle. On hot summer days, one could rest under the leafy canopies of three Mallorn trees. Galadriel and Celeborn had planted them, one for each of their grandchildren. They were not as tall as the trees in Lothlórien, but tall enough to tempt Elflings to climb them.

Legolas found the chaos of this garden more appealing than Elrond's geometrical landscape architecture with its perfectly groomed lawns and colour-coordinated planting. Amariel would have loved it, too. If only he could have given her a garden like this, she-

His thoughts were interrupted by voices, and he halted. So he was not alone here!

"How about a wager then?" a female voice said. "If you win, I will take over three hours' beginners' lessons in sword fighting next week. And if you lose," her voice became sultry and flirty, "I will get a kiss from you."

"How could anyone possibly turn down such a tempting offer, though that kiss would be happily given no matter the outcome of the competition."

"I know, but I like a challenge."

Legolas was more than surprised when he recognised the male voice as Lórindol's. Though curious to see who the mysterious female was who had managed the miracle of catching Lórindol's interest, Legolas decided it was better to retreat. Alas, he had reckoned without the Plains Elves' refined sense of smell.

"Too late, Legolas, we know you are there!" Lórindol called cheerfully, and so Legolas had no choice but to continue on his way and step out into the small clearing, where he found Lórindol sitting on a stone bench, a Grumbler board in front of him, while Estorel and a female Elf in the uniform of the guards were lying in the grass, her head resting on his chest. So the wager discussed had not been between her and _Lórindol_ , but _Estorel_!

"Greetings," he said. "And my apologies, it was not my intention to disturb you. I was just taking a walk."

"Escaping the Last Homely Party Business as well? Well met," Estorel said, seemingly unperturbed. "Variel, this is Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm. Legolas, please meet Variel - a good friend and a master when it comes to wielding knives."

Variel moved to get up, but Legolas gestured to her to stay where she was.

"Well met," he said, bowing his head. "No need for formality here."

"You came at just the right moment," Lórindol said, "they were in the process of doing warriorly things, and no doubt, you will be delighted to participate."

Variel shot Lórindol a none too friendly look.

"I doubt a Prince of the Woodland Realm will be interested in our games," she said.

Lórindol smiled.

"Who knows, maybe he would be happy if you educated young Woodland Elves in the art of sword fighting? However, what about a game of Grumbler, Legolas? I am certain you are familiar with it."

Legolas had to hide a smile.

"Indeed, I am. And yes, why not."

Lórindol gestured at the place opposite him, and Legolas sat down.

"The white stones for the son of Thranduil," Lórindol said, and turned the board, so that the blue stones were on his side. Legolas blinked, then took one of the stones in front of him and inspected it. His eyes widened in surprise.

"But - these are uncut white gems! Lórindol! Are you aware what you are playing with?"

"Of course. White gems for you, sapphires for me. They go so well with my eyes."

Legolas couldn't believe it. Many a man would have killed for just one of the stones in front of him, and here was Lórindol, nonchalantly playing a Dwarvish children's game with eight of them!

Lórindol, noticing Legolas' confusion, felt that an explanation might speed up the start of the game.

"A present from Dûlla. I helped her with a little Warg problem, and as a reward, she gave me these gems. I appreciate pretty things, you see."

"Obviously." Legolas pointed at Lórindol's hands; he wore a ring on each of his long fingers. "You are the only Elf who wears more jewellery than my father."

"Who, according to Uncle Nonfindel, is a man of impeccable taste. Now, let us play."

Lórindol made the first move, and soon the two were absorbed in their game, though Legolas kept one ear on the conversation between Estorel and Variel. It was about the wager; throwing knives at a pinecone swinging from a branch on a string, three tries each. Easier said than done, as Legolas well knew; a pinecone was a difficult target, small and moving erratically. From the confident way she held her knife, Legolas could tell that Variel was very certain of her victory. Estorel, on the other hand, was licking his lips nervously, and his hand wasn't steady.

"Keep your eyes on the board," Lórindol said, but not before quickly moving one of his stones into a more favourable position.

Estorel was first to throw. He took aim, narrowed his eyes, then threw his knife, missing the pinecone by an inch.

"How unfortunate. Must be the wind," Variel said. "Now let us hope that I will have better luck."

Estorel didn't reply, he just glared at the knife in Variel's hand. She smiled and threw it without further ado. The blade touched the cone, and it jumped.

"Close, but still a miss," Lórindol commented.

"We are managing very well without an arbiter here, thank you," Variel said acidly.

Lórindol arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, pardon me, I shall refrain from any further comments. Your move, Legolas."

Legolas stared at his stones, but he couldn't concentrate. Lórindol watched him for a while, then sighed.

"I see, we will not get anywhere until this contest is over. Good grief, throw the knife, brother, or we will sit here until tomorrow!"

Estorel bit his lip and threw, but he was even further off his mark than the first time. Variel couldn't hide a smug smile.

"It is not your day, I fear. My turn."

She took her second knife, aimed briefly and once again managed to hit the cone. She was really good, Legolas had to admit, but still, he didn't like seeing Estorel losing in front of him, and even less considering the wager.

"If you do not manage a direct hit now, you have lost," Variel said.

"Thank you for reminding me," Estorel hissed through gritted teeth. He threw his knife, but again it missed the cone, ending up stuck in a branch. Estorel winced.

Variel shook her head and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Too bad. You lost, and you damaged a branch on Elrohir's tree. By the Valar, he will not like that! I foresee many additional night watches in your future. Ah well, no risk, no fun." She gave Legolas a sidewise glance. "I will claim my prize at some other time. Would you pick my knives up for me, please?"

She bowed and left, and Legolas couldn't help but notice the spring in her step.

Estorel muttered something incomprehensible and marched towards the tree to collect the knives.

Lórindol folded his hands.

"You lost as well, Legolas. How unfortunate. We should also have made a bet."

Legolas looked down at the board in front of him.

"I am afraid the wagers customary in Imladris are not for me."

Lórindol laughed.

"Indeed! I already have the best teacher in the art of sword fighting in Middle-earth, and, with all due respect, I would rather kiss a Warg. But how about one of your fighting knives against one of these stones? I know that Woodland Elves are rather fond of white gems."

Legolas blinked.

"My fighting knife against a stone? Are you mad? One could buy you a thousand knives!"

Lórindol shrugged.

"Eh, I like yours, and I just happen to need a new letter opener. Here."

Lórindol pulled out two knives and put them in front of Legolas, who wondered where the other had hidden the weapons, for he had not seen them previously. They were Dwarvish blades.

"Also a reward for the solving of a Warg problem?"

"No. I fixed the plumbing."

Estorel was on his way back from the tree, and had followed the exchange between Legolas and his brother. There were leaves from the Mallorn tree sticking in his hair, and his eyes were dark with anger. Quite clearly, he was not happy that he had lost the bet, and in front of Legolas, of all people. Legolas looked up, and returned the glare.

Lórindol leaned forward.

"Go on. Stop glaring daggers, throw a knife."

He had not even finished the last word when Legolas grabbed one knife and threw it without standing up, cutting the pinecone neatly in two.

Estorel's eyes widened, and Lórindol whistled through his teeth.

"Impressive! Well, now I will try my luck."

Lórindol turned on the bench but didn't bother to stand up. He closed one eye, and took aim, the tip of his tongue showing between his lips. He threw, and missed spectacularly, his knife disappearing somewhere in the bushes.

"By the Valar! What idiot is throwing knives here?" an angry voice could be heard.

Estorel jumped, and when Glorfindel appeared in the clearing, holding Lórindol's knife, he paled.

"Ada! What are you doing here?"

"I have been looking for you two all over Imladris. Gandalf requires your assistance with the fireworks. But I repeat my question: who threw that knife?"

Lórindol looked completely unimpressed and pointed at Legolas.

"He did. But you must not be angry with him, ada. He is not used to my knives, and you know - his arm."

Legolas opened and closed his mouth, but didn't say anything, speechless at such impertinence.

"Oh - oh," Glorfindel said. "Of course. Still, be more careful. Accidents could happen."

"My apologies. I was careless," Legolas finally said. "Indeed, Dwarvish blades are tricky to handle."

"No need to apologise," Glorfindel said and handed the knife back to Lórindol. "And you two, please hurry, Gandalf is waiting for you."

"We will be with him in a few minutes," Estorel said, smiling at his father. Glorfindel nodded, bowed his head to Legolas, and strode off to return to Erestor and his party list. Estorel waited until he could be certain that Glorfindel was out of earshot, then he grabbed Lórindol by the scruff of the neck.

"What was that about? Why did you lie?"

Lórindol shook himself free.

"We have both seen our Woodland Princeling fighting; he is perfectly capable of standing his ground. And he managed to split that pinecone where even Variel failed. So, if it is acceptable for him to chicken out of competing on the training ground by pretending that he is too weak to hold a sword, then it is acceptable for me to chicken out of getting lectured by ada by pretending that he is too weak to throw a knife. But be that as it may, I lost. Here is your prize."

He put one white stone in front of Legolas. Then he smiled and added a second one. "And this one for damages for pain and suffering."

* * *

"This is a beautiful celebration, beloved," Glorfindel said, and put his hand on Erestor's shoulder. The advisor wore a robe of scarlet velvet; a rare sight, for he usually dressed only in black.

"I hope so; Elrond and Bilbo deserve the brightest and most cheerful farewell possible, even if I have to walk around looking like the Eye of Sauron." He sighed. "We will never be gathered like this again, Fin. To be honest, I find it hard to be cheerful."

Glorfindel pressed a kiss on Erestor's temple.

"I know. It is not easy to smile if the heart is heavy with sadness. But we are not losing our dearest friends, Erestor. Once we sail west, we will meet them again."

Erestor frowned.

"Yes, yes, I know. Everything will be just wonderful once we sail west, never-ending sunshine, free all-you-can-eat and endless white beaches. However, the Valar only know when that might be. I do not find that idea very comforting, I am too much of a today's Elf." He straightened up. "But I shall not be the one to ruin the mood tonight. I want Elrond and Bilbo to remember the Last Homely House with a smile. And just look at our sons, they are enjoying the party!"

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, and how! I fear the worst."

Erestor laughed and placed a kiss on Glorfindel's cheek.

"It is not their fault, Fin. They take after you."

* * *

Estorel and Lórindol did indeed enjoy themselves, though in completely different ways. Lórindol had been dancing for an hour, and now he sat on the floor in front of Gandalf and Bilbo. They smoked their pipes, and he listened intently to their tall stories. Whether he was oblivious to the admiring glances bestowed on him from all directions or just preferred to ignore them one could not tell, though Legolas thought it impossible that Lórindol was unaware of the impression he made. He wore a robe of finest silk, in exactly the same shade of blue as his eyes, and his golden hair was adorned with white gems and sapphires. Everybody would have agreed that Lórindol was the fairest being in the Last Homely House that evening.

Everybody but Legolas, because there was also Estorel.

He had braided his long, unruly black hair, but with the exception of two simple silver clasps in the shape of acorns, he didn't wear any adornments. Instead of a robe, he had opted to wear a tunic of dark suede, embroidered with oak leaves. Everything about him was plain, but that was just what made him stand out from the crowd of Elves clad in colourful robes.

"Always same story, they all over him like flour on lembas."

"What?" Legolas almost spilled his wine, feeling caught out in his observation. It was Mauburz who had spotted him hiding behind the statue of Gil-galad and decided to join him.

"Estorel. You been watching Estorel, no?" Mauburz giggled. "Can understand it. Is very entertaining to watch. Look, now Variel pretends she is a little tipsy, so can stumble and fall into his arms. Wait... wait... hah! See? Pah. Predictable."

"Eh - yes," Legolas said, trying not to show his dislike for the unfolding scene. Variel had indeed "stumbled" and was now clinging to Estorel like a leech. Not that Estorel seemed to mind - on the contrary.

"Estorel very popular," Mauburz explained. "Is what Orcs call Guar'nod."

"Means?"

"Juicy bone. Everyone wants a bite."

Legolas shuddered.

"I do not think that is an appropriate compliment for a noble Elf."

Mauburz grinned.

"Oh, Estorel would like it. Is very happy to be favourite Elf, you know? Master Erestor and Glorfindel said they will not sail west before Estorel is married, so guess they will stay here until eternity. But why you hiding here? Lord Elrond said you here to have fun!"

Legolas managed a smile.

"I assure you that I am having a lot of fun, Mistress Mauburz. It is very kind of you to worry about me, but really, I am fine."

"You sure? Very well then. Mauburz remember that you used to dance all night long, but have not danced once tonight. If you not go and dance, I will send Lórindol to come and get you!"

"I promise that I will dance the night away, Mistress Mauburz," Legolas hastily promised.

Mauburz nodded and left Legolas to his own thoughts, and immediately, he returned his attention to Estorel. He was constantly surrounded by a crowd, the centre of attention and seemingly loving it. Estorel was very fair, and he had an air of self-confidence which attracted people to him like moths to fire. Legolas watched his behaviour with discomfort; the wine seemed to lower everybody's inhibitions, hugs and kisses were freely given and received, and when Estorel hugged yet another fair Elf and kissed her on the neck, Legolas had had enough and retreated to a balcony, breathing in the cold evening air and shaking his head.

"This is ridiculous," he said to himself, and it really was. Estorel could hug and kiss whoever he wanted, it was absolutely none of Legolas' business. And Legolas didn't even know why Estorel's behaviour annoyed him so; it was not like he'd expected the doe-eyed admiration of his youth to continue. He decided to wait for Gandalf's fireworks, and then use the general distraction to retreat to his chamber.

The door behind him opened, and to his surprise, there was Estorel.

"There you are. Why are you hiding on the balcony? You are missing the party of the year, Legolas!"

"I am waiting for the fireworks."

Estorel arched an eyebrow.

"The fireworks, aha. Well, I shall wait with you then, this seems to be an excellent place to watch them. What a fantastic night. Who would have thought that my parents could organise such an outstanding party? You do not seem to be enjoying it much, though."

Legolas didn't look at Estorel.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Estorel shrugged.

"Well, you have spent all evening hiding behind that hideous statue of Gil-galad, glaring disapprovingly in my direction."

"Nonsense."

Estorel smiled.

"The fireworks will start in a moment. Gandalf does the best, does he not? And it will be his last display before he leaves for Valinor, so he will certainly outdo himself."

"Probably."

They stood for a while in silence, until the explosion of the first fireworks could be heard, and the night sky was lit with stars in all the colours of the rainbow.

"Oh, that is so beautiful!" Estorel said, looking up in awe.

"Yes," Legolas replied, yet he didn't look at the sky at all, for he couldn't take his eyes off Estorel, taking in the expression of awe on his face. Estorel noticed that he was being watched, and turned his head. He reached out to touch one of Legolas' braids.

"Gold," he said, then ran his hand down Legolas' shoulder, feeling the heavy velvet of his robes. "Velvet and gold. Do you know that this was what I first noticed about you?"

 _I have to go now_ , Legolas thought, _or I will kiss him and Erestor will burst through this door and rip my head off_. Instead, he nodded.

"Yes, I remember. ' _Look, sia - the beautiful Elf is all soft!'_ Gímli loves that story. But that was a long time ago."

"Not _that_ long. And you are still beautiful."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Legolas looked at Estorel; there could be no doubt about his honesty, and that was what made it impossible for him to reply. Estorel leaned against the balustrade and folded his arms over his chest. The fireworks illuminated his face in a ghostly shade of blue.

"Funny, is it not, how times change. Once, I was watching you, and now, you are watching me. I wonder if it is as painful for you as it was for me, though."

Legolas took a step back.

"I fear the wine is talking, and by tomorrow, you will have the hangover from Mordor, Estorel," he said stiffly.

Estorel laughed.

"The wine. Of course. My fair leaf, I could drink you under the table, if I wanted, for I am used to Lord Elrond's strongest spirits, which make your Mirkwood wines taste like the dishwater that they are. But fine, believe it is the wine, if that makes you feel better." He narrowed his eyes. "I know that you want me, Legolas. Dare and deny it."

Legolas' head was spinning. What could he possibly reply to this? Fortunately for him, the balcony door opened, and Lórindol appeared.

"Ah, there you are, I have been looking for you," he said, grabbing his brother by the arm and pulling him away. "Sia is looking for you."

Estorel seemed reluctant to leave, and looked at Legolas. Lórindol noticed this, and said something in a language Legolas didn't understand, but from the tone of it, the message wasn't overly kind. It convinced Estorel to leave, though, and Legolas breathed a sigh of relief.

As the brothers went through the door, Lórindol looked over his shoulder at Legolas. There was a very odd sound, and only after they had left and the night sky was lit with a firework depicting two wolves chasing each other, did Legolas realise what that sound had been: Lórindol had growled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

_"With a humbledum grumbledum humbledum grumbledum humbledum grumbledum hey!"_

Tauriel gave her bow and quiver, leaning against the cave wall to her left, a longing sidewise glance.

_"Humbledum, grumbledum humbledum grumbledum humbledum grumbledum hey!"_

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

She banged her fist on the table, almost knocking over the inkwell. Lionel, just returned from the woods and still carrying a basket filled with various herbage, arched an eyebrow.

"The chorus is very catchy."

"It is soul-destroying! I am trying to set up the guards' rota for the next two months, which is difficult enough without Nonfindel screeching like a Fell-beast. Why can he not do this outside? He knows that every whisper is magnified twentyfold in the Great Cave!"

Lionel sighed.

"Maybe he does not wish to scare the spiders. But I admit, he is a better painter than bard. I am certain it is only a phase, though. Phases pass. Do not give up hope."

"I hope it passes soon," Tauriel muttered, and returned her attention to the paper in front of her. "If not, I will throttle him with a string from his harp."

"If you should wish me to dispose of him for you now, just say the word, Tauriel. I would be more than happy to oblige," Feren said, bowing his head. He had arrived just a moment before Lionel to discuss the rota with Tauriel, and didn't seem to appreciate Nonfindel's digression into the field of music, either. "I must say that I am very surprised at your leniency; my lord Erduil would not stand for such nonsense."

Tauriel preferred not to comment on Legolas' father-in-law, and dipped the quill into the ink once more. However, just when she wanted to note down the names of the Elves guarding the southern border, Nonfindel began to sing again.

 _"My pretty maid fain would I know_  
_What thing it is will breed delight,_  
 _That strives to stand yet can not go_  
 _That feeds the mouth that can not bite."_

She dropped the quill and leaned back in her chair, arching her eyebrows almost up to her hairline.

"Tell me he is _not_ singing what I _think_ he is singing."

Lionel and Feren listened carefully.

_"It is a pretty pricking thing  
A pleasing and a standing thing-"_

"I am afraid he is. Do you want to borrow my sword, or would you rather I go and shut him up?" Lionel asked. "The latter is more advisable, though the former would probably be more satisfactory."

Tauriel glowered at the paper in front of her.

"I really do not care, as long as I can finally finish my work."

Lionel nodded. He knew how difficult Tauriel's job was, defending the borders of Mirkwood with an ever decreasing number of guards. That was not the only problem, though; since the death of his daughter and grandchild, Erduil was openly challenging and opposing Thranduil, and refused to send more of his Elves to serve in the guards than he absolutely had to. As far as Erduil was concerned, he looked after his own clan first, and to Mordor with the rest of Mirkwood.

"Your wish is my command," Lionel said. He put the basket on the ground and left.

Feren waited until Lionel was out of earshot, then he brushed some specks of dust off his jerkin and cleared his throat.

"I am actually quite grateful to have the opportunity to talk to you alone."

Tauriel did not share that feeling at all, but she still managed a polite smile.

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Have you considered my proposal, Tauriel?"

Tauriel took a deep breath.

"I have, and as I already told you, I feel honoured, but I have to decline."

"You said so the last time I asked, but have you really thought this through?"

 _Forest Spirits, give me strength_ , Tauriel thought.

"Thoroughly, and yet, I have not changed my mind. Pardon me for being so blunt, Feren, but I do not love you."

Feren began to pace up and down, a habit which Tauriel found most grating.

"I know this, but I think mutual respect is more important for marriage than delusions of eternal love. Especially in times like these."

"And what, pray tell, are these special times you speak of?"

"Tauriel, your loyalty towards the king is honourable, but we all know that he is tired and weary of his duties. He longs to sail west with his - bard. Painter. Companion."

"You mean Lord Lórindol of the Golden Flower?" Tauriel said icily. "I fail to see what this has to do with my, and I wish to emphasise this once again, _non-existent_ marriage plans."

Feren ignored the verbal arrow.

"He _will_ sail west, Tauriel, sooner rather than later, and we both know that Legolas is not fit to take the crown."

Tauriel narrowed her eyes.

"What are you insinuating?"

He held up his hands.

"I know what you think, but you are misjudging me. The Legolas of old could have guided our people through any storm, one-eyed and one-armed. But he is eaten up by his grief and his thirst for revenge. He would start a pointless war we could not win, costing countless lives and causing nothing but misery. Not even you, Tauriel, can deny this."

She nodded reluctantly.

"No, unfortunately, you are right. But I do not think Lord Erduil's ideas of leading our people back to live in the old ways are right, either. He wants to isolate Mirkwood from the rest of Middle-earth, but I want it to be part of it. Elves, Men, Hobbits, Dwarves - we are all part of this world, and we can only survive if we find a way to live side by side, working together."

Feren made a throw-away gesture with his hand.

"Yes, because this worked oh so well in the past! I might not agree with all of his ideas, but just look at the twin sons of Elrohir who have come to live here in Mirkwood. We know nothing about them; can you really blame those who find them eerie? Just looking into those eyes..." He broke off, shuddering.

"Do I need to remind you that those 'eerie twins' have saved the lives of your king and his son, Feren? And the life of Lionel?"

"You remind us often enough of it, but that does not mean they have to be here. To be quite honest, it is insulting to imply that our own warriors are not sufficient to protect the House of Thranduil!"

"And yet, not a single attempt has been made to attack the king since they arrived in Mirkwood," Tauriel snapped. "What do you make of _that_?"

"I do not make anything of it, but some say, and who could blame them, that maybe the twins were in league with those who were behind those attacks, and that this is the reason why they stopped."

Tauriel stood up.

"You cannot be serious!"

"I have not said that I _believe_ this, but I have _heard_ this rumour. Its mere existence is a warning."

"Indeed. It is a warning that some Elves in Mirkwood have lost their minds and should see a healer."

Feren opened his mouth for a sharp reply, but then he changed his mind and shrugged.

"This discussion will not lead anywhere. You cannot hold it against our people that they fear these strange creatures. Think about it, Tauriel: one day, they will rule Imladris, maybe even Lothlórien! Lothlórien, Tauriel, the heart of Elvendom! Does this really not worry you?"

"No."

Feren looked down at the half-finished document on the desk.

"Let me be blunt, Tauriel: I feel that the rumours are true, you still mourn the Dwarf, and that is the reason why you do not even consider my offer. But I will not hold that against you; let us not talk about it any more, it all happened a long time ago. If you should see sense, you know where to find me. Send me a messenger with the rota once it is finished."

Tauriel was seething inside, and if she had followed her feelings, she would have grabbed the inkwell and thrown it at Feren's head, but relations with his clan were bad enough already, and Erduil would not appreciate her sending his envoy home with a bump on his head and a black eye. So she silently counted to ten and bowed her head instead with as much dignity and grace as she could muster.

"I will."

Feren bowed as well and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Tauriel let out a frustrated sigh and pressed her hands against her eyes, as if she could force the pounding headache away.

 _"Shall I go walk the wood so wild,_  
_Wand'ring, wand'ring here and there,_  
 _As I was once full sore beguil'd,_  
 _Alas! for love! I die with woe._

Lionel had taken the harp from Nonfindel - well, at least _he_ could sing.

 _Wearily blows the winter wind,_  
_Wand'ring, wand'ring here and there,_  
 _My heart is like a stricken hind,_  
 _Alas! for love I die with woe."_

Well, that didn't help at all. If only she could have hidden away in her home, pulled the bed covers over her head and had a good cry while thinking of Kíli, but there was the rota for the guards, a pile of letters, and a dozen other duties waiting for her. So she did what she had always done during the last decades: put her own sorrows and pain aside and buried herself in work.

* * *

"The burning woods!"

Legolas sat up in his bed, covered in sweat and still feeling the heat of the fire on his skin. It was always the same nightmare that plagued him, and while the memory faded when he awoke, the horror of the fire and the terrifying screams of his loved ones stayed with him in those brief moments between dream and awareness.

"Do you often dream of the great fire?"

He flinched, but then he wasn't _that_ surprised to find Estorel standing in his bedchamber, watching him. He'd half expected it; Estorel didn't strike him as the kind of Elf who'd allow his younger brother to order him about.

Legolas shook his head.

"Not every night any more, but still too often. Is the party over?"

Estorel shrugged.

"It is, for me." He crossed the room and sat down at the bottom of Legolas' bed.

"I sometimes dream of fire as well," he said, surprisingly.

"Tell me."

"It is a dream I have had since I was an Elfling. I am running towards a slender tower of white marble. Why I need to go there I do not know, but it is very important to me. Something is chasing me, something terrible. I never see it, I never get caught, but there is fire, everywhere, and it is consuming me. Just when the dream becomes unbearable, I wake up."

"What have your parents said about it?"

"I never told them."

Legolas frowned.

"Why ever not?"

"Rabbit said it was _my_ dream, and that I should only share it with the one I would also share my heart with."

Legolas ran his healthy hand through his hair.

"Lórindol growled at me. For some reason, I do not think he wishes you to share your heart with me. Or anything else, for that matter."

Estorel gave Legolas a sidewise glance and smiled. It was an impish smile, but there was also something feral about it.

"Our tribe, the family, always comes first, and we protect it at all cost. That is what Lórindol thinks he is doing; he tries to protect me. You must understand, in some matters, my brother holds very old-fashioned views. To be honest, some of his beliefs are downright ancient."

"And what is it that he wants to protect you from?"

"That is between him and me," Estorel replied curtly. "And I have not come here to talk about my brother."

"I guessed that much," Legolas said. "And yet I do not understand. Why me? Your 'beautiful Elf' is no more."

"Do you think I care?" Estorel said, and yanked the blanket away before Legolas could take hold of it, exposing what he had so carefully kept hidden from curious eyes for the last ten years.

"Are you happy now?" Legolas asked angrily. "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

"Well, give me a moment, will you?" Estorel said, cool as a cucumber and studying him like some fascinating sculpture. To his horror, this was the first time Legolas noticed a likeness between Estorel and Lórindol.

"Do you think the tattoos can be restored?" Estorel asked after a while, and Legolas blinked.

"What?"

"Your tattoos. They are your marks of honour, after all. Have you never thought about asking the healers to do them again? The fire has burnt your skin, but you could reclaim the marks of your deeds."

"I - never thought about it," Legolas admitted. Estorel nodded, then he unlaced his jerkin and pulled it over his head. He had only a few marks and signs, as he was still young, but he pointed proudly at a collection of dots and lines on his chest, next to a stylised raven and a flower above his heart. The Houses of the Circling Raven and the Golden Flower, Legolas thought.

"Gondor two years ago, an Orc ambush, with the Rangers."

Legolas looked at Estorel's markings; they were different from the ones he knew from his own people, but yet, it was a shared custom. In many respects, Plains Elves seemed to be closer to Mirkwood than to any other Elven realm. An interesting thought, but right now, it was far more interesting to have a half-naked Estorel in his bed, because that was a most pleasant sight. Lean and muscular, there was nothing soft about him but his brown eyes; he was a warrior, there could be no doubt about it. Legolas couldn't help but feel a little uneasy, but desire overwhelmed that when Estorel gave him a sultry look from under long lashes.

With one fast, fluid motion, Estorel rolled on top of Legolas and kissed him. The first kiss in ten years, the first kind of intimate contact in as many years, and it took a moment for Legolas to react. Estorel chuckled, kissing his way down his neck and then back up to his ear.

"You ask why?" he whispered. "I always loved and wanted you, but you never wanted me. Now I can have you, and you want me, too. That is why."

Legolas didn't say anything, he just followed Estorel's lead and gave in to his kisses and touches, but all through their encounter, there was a small voice telling him that maybe this was not the wisest thing to do, and that escapism was escapism even if it came disguised as love. But Estorel was so very fair, and so very tempting, and he had collected more experience in the art of love-making during the last forty years than Legolas had in the last thousand. He knew no inhibitions; he dominated their love-making. Estorel was a passionate, demanding and not overly gentle lover, but Legolas did not want gentle. He ached for every scratch and bite, longed for anything that managed to drag him out of his numbness, even if it was for a short while. And it felt good to let go and lose all inhibitions himself.

Just like on his arrival in Imladris, during the fight with the Orcs and the subsequent race back to the Last Homely House, Legolas felt alive again, not detached from those around him, existing in an isolated bubble of grief and anger. And that was all thanks to Estorel. Estorel knew what he needed, and that was why Legolas, when the first light of the new morning began to lighten his bedchamber, made a fatal suggestion.

"Come with me to Mirkwood," he said. "With you by my side, I will have the strength to take over my father's duties, and he can finally sail west, as he longs to do. You do not doubt me. You believe in me."

Estorel froze.

"To Mirkwood? You want me to come to _Mirkwood_?"

"Yes," Legolas said firmly. "I cannot do this alone. Will you help me? Lead Mirkwood to a better future? And take my revenge?"

Estorel hesitated a moment, so Legolas grasped his hand. "Family comes first," he said, "I know you understand."

* * *

"Yes, I understand." Legolas kissed him, and Estorel lost himself in that kiss, again. He did not like the idea of revenge and war. But Legolas was right to thirst for revenge; wouldn't he have acted the same in his place?

"I will come with you," he replied. "But they must not know. Not yet. They would not understand."

Legolas nodded.

"We will tell them once the time is right."

Estorel put his arms around Legolas and pulled him close. Mirkwood. Who would have thought?

* * *

Dinner was served in the blue room, for the Great Hall was still a mess after the party, and only a small group was gathered for the meal. Mauburz had excused herself, nursing a terrible hangover, and Elrohir wished to spend some time alone with his father. So it was Legolas, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lórindol and Estorel enjoying a meal of hot soup and freshly-baked bread. More could not be expected from the kitchen, for the cooks, too, were suffering from the after-effects of the party.

It was a rather silent meal, with Lórindol yawning from time to time and Estorel and Legolas also looking rather tired.

"To think that we used to drink and make merry for six days in a row, and without sleeping a wink, when I was your age," Glorfindel said, shaking his head. "And here you are, almost falling asleep after only one night."

"And of course you and Ecthelion were fresh as a mountain spring and smelled like roses," Lórindol said, stirring his soup without much enthusiasm. "And the maidens fainted at the mere sight of you and everybody had to shade their eyes when you rode by so as not to be blinded by your splendidness."

"Nobody shaded their eyes; they could not have feasted their eyes on our beauty, otherwise," Glorfindel replied good-naturedly, and winked at his youngest son.

"Pfft, beauty," Erestor snorted, and rolled his eyes. "You were both insufferable smug posers. No disrespect, but Ecthelion's looks were highly overrated."

"Overrated?" Glorfindel threw his arms up in mock outrage, indicating to Legolas that he was witnessing a much-loved family ritual. "Ecthelion was the fairest Elf of them all! Eyes like stars and hair like the night!"

"Yes, of course," Erestor said, reaching for the bread. "Maybe you remember that little song about him? _Lord of the Fountain, Lord of the Fountain, Face like a Horse, Arse like a Mountain..._ "

"Oh, I _do_ remember, but you must have misheard the lyrics. It was not about his _face_ , beloved..." Glorfindel said, smiling smugly. Estorel and Lórindol broke out in laughter, and Legolas couldn't help but join in. How different this was from the glum meals at home, and how he had missed such cheerful banter! Maybe Estorel would bring some laughter back into his life, some cheerfulness.

Once the laughter had died down, Estorel took the opportunity of his parents' good spirits to break the news of his travel plans.

"Winter is upon us," he said, "and as we have seen in recent weeks, there are increasing sightings of Orcs on our borders, and beyond. I thought it might be a good idea if I accompanied Legolas back to Mirkwood; travelling alone under these conditions does not seem a wise thing to do."

Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a quick glance.

"That comes as a bit of a surprise," Glorfindel said. "Not that I am against it, on the contrary, I did not think it was a good idea to travel alone in the first place, but what about your service in the guards? Lórindol, _you_ could accompany our guest."

Lórindol shook his head very firmly.

"I am very sorry, ada, but I am far too busy. That aside, such a journey would interfere with my plans to visit Dûlla."

"I am certain we can find a solution," Estorel said, "and I would really love to see the twins again. I miss them."

Erestor had followed the exchange with a frown.

"How long will you stay?"

Estorel shrugged.

"I do not know yet, sia. I have never been to Mirkwood, I will use the opportunity to look around a bit."

"Knowing King Thranduil, he will kick him out after two days," Lórindol said.

"I expect you to show King Thranduil all the respect he deserves," Erestor said sternly. "I do not wish my son to cause any diplomatic incidents. And please, promise me not to go and hunting for spiders."

Estorel rolled his eyes.

"I promise, sia," he muttered. He looked at Lórindol, who stirred his soup with the most bored expression on his face, and then exchanged a quick glance with Legolas, who looked very relieved. Estorel had to smile; that had gone far better than he'd hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Riddle" / "The Woods So Wild": trad. tavern songs


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring has ended with a great tragedy for the House of Thranduil. Before leaving with Bilbo Baggins for Valinor, Elrond invites Legolas to Imladris, hoping that spending time away from Mirkwood will help the prince of the Woodland Realm, who is filled with bitterness, to recover from his grief. Lórindol and Estorel, the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel, are now all grown up, and Legolas risks that by befriending one, he might make an enemy of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: Eveiya
> 
> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.

The damp cold had frozen Legolas to the skin, though he had only taken a short walk, and he was glad to return to his chambers, where the fireplace radiated welcoming warmth. He had to smile when he saw a pair of booted feet, stretched out lazily in front of the fire.

"We will start a long journey tomorrow, do you think it wise to tire me out this night, Estorel?" he asked, throwing his cloak over a chair.

"No, that would be a very unwise thing to do," a familiar voice said, and Lórindol's head appeared around the side of the large armchair. "Not that it would surprise, me, though."

Legolas' eyes widened. " _You_?"

"I know, very disappointing. But look on the bright side - I could be Erestor."

Legolas crossed the room and came to stand in front of Lórindol, but the young Elf made no move to get up. If anything, he looked rather bored.

"What do you want, Lórindol?"

"I came here to see if I was right. I see I was, so that is cleared up. Furthermore, I wanted to let you know that I do not appreciate watching my parents lied to in their own home."

"I did not lie to your parents," Legolas protested, "nor did your brother!"

"No, you just did not tell them the truth. Is that the famed Mirkwood diplomacy? Then I can understand why half of Middle-earth wants your father's head on a plate. Still, I hoped that I might be wrong, that you would show more sense than Estorel, but no luck there."

Legolas felt insulted by Lórindol's words.

"There could certainly be worse places for Estorel to be than by my side," he said. "Maybe it does not count for much to you, but I am still a prince of the Woodland Realm."

Lórindol steepled his fingers and looked at Legolas with a mixture of amusement and anger.

"How fabulous for Estorel, from warrior to secret consort," he mocked. "Just because Lord Elrond locks his correspondence away does not mean I never read it, so I know very well what your father-in-law had to say upon the birth of my brother. He suggested that my family should be banished from Imladris, and is convinced that the Mordorian Plains Elves were created by Sauron himself. Now what do you think Erduil will do if he finds out you share your bed with a creature he considers nothing but a sophisticated Orc? You will not stand by Estorel in public, am I right?"

Legolas didn't answer, but looked guilty enough for Lórindol to shake his head.

"Ah yes, I knew it. By the way, better not suggest to Estorel that he produce an heir to the throne: he is most averse to the idea of child-bearing, and Erduil would have a coronary."

"Just what - you are completely shameless," Legolas snapped.

Lórindol sighed. "No, I am honest. You are unhappy in Mirkwood. Your father is unhappy in Mirkwood, so is my uncle and probably eighty percent of the population. So I think you should return to Mirkwood and drag yourself and your people _out_ of misery rather than drag my brother _into_ it."

"Your brother is not being dragged into anything! Do you think him an Elfling who cannot make his own decisions?"

Lórindol shook his head.

"Oh, no. I think him an Elf who cannot let go of the infatuations of his youth. And you will drag him into some stupid war."

Legolas banged his fist on the mantelpiece.

"Stupid war? Is taking revenge for the murder of my family stupid? Is it not the custom with Plains Elves that the family comes first?"

"Indeed, and that is why I am here. You wish to revenge the loss of your loved ones by starting a war which will result in the loss of many of your warriors. Pray tell, what about _their_ lives? What about _their_ families? Who will they take _their_ revenge on? I can answer that question for you should you not be capable of figuring it out for yourself."

Legolas clenched his jaw.

"You do not know what you are talking about. Estorel will come with me to Mirkwood because this is what he wants. I do understand that you act out of concern, so I will not tell him of your visit tonight, but please accept that he is none of your concern any more. He has made his choice."

Lórindol sighed and folded his hands. He looked very young, with his long lashes throwing shadows on his cheeks, the small bells in his braids chiming gently.

"How kind and generous of you," he said. "What can I possibly say to that?"

Before Legolas could blink, Lórindol had moved out of his seat and launched himself at him, throwing him to the ground and pinning his good arm above his head. All this happened so fast that he had no chance to react, except with a gasp of surprise. Lórindol was astonishingly heavy, and he held Legolas down with an iron grip. His eyes, usually so soft and blue and gentle, now had an amber glint, and Legolas noticed for the first time that his teeth were unusually white and sharp. A memory shot through his head, of the scar that Lórindol's teeth had left in Tauriel's shoulder, still visible after all these years.

"Yes, family comes first, and you had better remember that, Legolas of Mirkwood," Lórindol hissed. "I am not the keeper of my brother's heart, if he wants to have it broken, so be it, but if any harm should befall Estorel in your realm, I will rip your heart out with my bare hands and feed it to Erestor's crows!"

Legolas had been petrified by the attack, but now he tried to fight back.

"It is true what they say, you are completely mad," he gasped, and tried to throw Lórindol off, but that was easier said than done; it was like wrestling a snake.

"Maybe I am, but then so must be Estorel, for we are of the same kind. Do not think me to be your enemy, Legolas, for I am not. One day, you may even find that I am your friend. For now, however, we will have to part in strife."

He let go of Legolas, but made no attempt to stand up. Instead, he leaned on his elbow and tapped his fingers on Legolas' shoulder. Legolas could have thrown him off now, but he felt tired, exhausted, and if he was honest, he found Lórindol more than a little eerie.

"Well then, now that we have cleared this up, there is only one question left," Lórindol said, far too cheerfully for the circumstances.

"I cannot wait."

"Was it yellow or had it more of a blueish hue?"

Legolas stared at Lórindol as if he just had sprouted a second head.

" _What_?"

"The fire. The burning woods, Legolas. When you ran into the fire, was it yellow or blue?"

* * *

Lórindol gave the large painting of Elrond next to the library door a passing glance. For as long as he could remember, a rather pompous life-sized portrait of Gil-galad had hung there, and it had been Elrohir's first deed as new Lord of Imladris to have it moved to the attic. Another painting, showing Elrohir, standing between his twin sons and holding balance scales, was now displayed in the Great Hall. Not much else had changed, except of course for the absence of Elrond and Bilbo. They had left just days after Estorel's departure for Mirkwood. Lórindol would have loved to join them, but Erestor had insisted that they let them undertake that last journey alone. Glorfindel said this was because it would have broken Erestor's heart to see their ship leave, but Lórindol suspected that his family feared he would pester Círdan with questions about his beard.

So they were gone, and the Last Homely House seemed strangely empty without wise Elrond and dear Bilbo. Glorfindel, it seemed, had taken Elrond's departure the hardest. His cheerfulness was gone and he became withdrawn, but Erestor knew that pressuring Glorfindel into talking had never worked in centuries, so he let him be; in time, so he hoped, Glorfindel would return to his old self.

Lórindol watched his parents carefully. He, too, missed Elrond and Bilbo, but he had his own theories on his father's behaviour, and one day, when Erestor was occupied in a meeting with Elrohir, he went looking for Glorfindel. He found him in the library, sitting by the great window overlooking the main road out of Imladris, his head bowed over a book.

"What are you doing, ada?"

"What?" Glorfindel looked up. "Reading, obviously. Not in peace and quiet, though, it seems."

Lórindol shook his head. He took the book from his father's hands and put it aside.

"Firstly, I cannot see any reason why you would read a book containing Dwarvish cooking recipes, and secondly, you were holding it upside down. You are worrying about Estorel, are you not? Admit it."

Glorfindel first looked shocked, then he had to smile.

"It really is not possible to keep anything secret from you, is it? Yes, you are right, I am worried. Or rather, I have a sense of foreboding, if you will. Estorel only accompanied Legolas to Mirkwood, they did not travel to Mordor. He is visiting friends and kin, and yet-"

Glorfindel broke off, tapping his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his seat.

"-and yet you feel that he is in danger," Lórindol finished the sentence.

Glorfindel nodded and stood up. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of the window. Rain was falling heavily, yet another autumn storm was coming.

"I have lived for a very long time, Lórindol, and I have suffered many losses. But no loss has ever been as painful and unbearable as that of my firstborn son during the Fall of Gondolin. Parents should never have to bury their children, it is against nature. I suppose Legolas' tragic loss brought back those memories, and that is why I am so anxious now."

Lórindol stepped to his father's side.

"You have never spoken to us about our brother's death."

"I felt you should not grow up with such a sad tale. Especially not Estorel."

"Why?"

"We named him after my first son. I know that this was against all customs, but your sia felt it was the right thing to do."

"Why do you two always have to be so complicated? Two Estorels, two Lórindols - there can never be too much of a good thing, ada. But I understand, Legolas came here, bringing his tragedy with him, and it all came back to you, so now you fear for Estorel's safety." He shrugged. "No reason to worry ada. Mirkwood is safe; the twins are there. Thranduil the unbearable is there. And even Uncle Nonfindel will take care of Estorel, so the worst that could happen will be a bad portrait in garish colours."

Glorfindel had to smile.

"You are right, of course. But there you see what happens when Elves live too long, child. They get sentimental. Now go and do whatever it is you usually do, I am fine and promise not to brood any more."

Lórindol nodded.

"Good! I have some letters to write."

He headed for the door, but then he halted, turned on his heel and hurried back to Glorfindel, hugged him tight and kissed him on the cheek.

"All will be fine, ada. As long as I live, nobody will ever hurt my brother, and you will never have to mourn another child."

Glorfindel looked at Lórindol. His face was serious and very determined, and again, he had this inexplicable premonition of doom.

"Is there anything I should know, Lórindol?"

"No," Lórindol replied, a little too fast and cheerful. "All is fine, ada."

* * *

Lórindol sat at his bureau in the "Rabbit Hole". He never allowed any visitors to enter; for one because he didn't wish to be disturbed in his work, for the other because he didn't want anybody to see what it was that he was doing. Crates and baskets with pieces of burnt wood were piled in the corners, every surface was covered with rock samples, gems, papers and books. Where once a painting of Orophin, Rúmil and Haldir had hung over the sofa there was now a large map of Mirkwood pinned to the wall. A map of northern Mirkwood, to be more precise, and it was covered in notes, numbers and small crosses.

Lórindol, the tip of his tongue firmly pressed into the corner of his mouth, transferred notes from small scraps of paper into a thick book in front of him. Then he stood up, took a pencil and went to stand on the sofa to search on the map for the Great Cave. Once he'd found it, he marked a small triangle with the note "Talan, Amariel / Ethuil" and added "yellow". Then he stepped down and looked at his work.

"It makes no sense," he said to himself. "Valar, it just does not make sense!"

He returned to his bureau, and slammed the book shut. The title on the cover, written in Lórindol's neat, old-fashioned hand-writing, read "The Burning Woods".

Lórindol reached for a different pile of papers, marked "witness reports", and returned to the map. Until now, this had been only a pastime, a mystery to keep him entertained. But now, with Estorel in Mirkwood, solving the puzzle of the burning woods had become a matter of life and death, because the tribe always came first, and Lórindol would protect it at all costs. Lórindol read another paper, looked again at the map, and then he growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of Part II of "The Burning Woods" trilogy! Part III will follow soon; I'm already halfway through the story, and to say it with Mr Baggins: "We're going on an adventure!" (in Mirkwood - but I suppose you guessed as much...)
> 
> For those who asked what happened to Dûlla, the fierce Dwarf lady from "A.C.O.T.E.R.": she will return in "The Burning Woods" and feature prominently.


End file.
